Black

by Donya Lynne

  Toward the end of the hall, Bain veered them to the right, into another hall—this one narrower—with large picture windows overlooking a sprawling lawn dotted with trees. It was still dark, but he could see that the property extended down a sloping hill to a line of trees in the distance. Beyond, the lights of the city illuminated the night sky.

  The next stop was a well-appointed study with hand-carved mahogany wainscoting. A polished Elizabethan hutch sat along the near wall, holding a silver tray set with expensive bourbon and crystal tumblers. Victorian-era furniture was strategically placed throughout the room.

  Then there was the desk. The size of a baby elephant and stained a rich, deep, cherry brown, King Bain’s desk matched the mammoth leather chair behind it and presented an imposing air of power and sophistication. This wasn’t just his office. It was his throne room.

  “Care for a drink?” Bain flipped over two tumblers and lifted the bourbon.

  “Sure.” Micah had a feeling he was going to need it.

  Bain handed him a glass and took a drink from his own.

  “So,” Bain said, “I guess the past couple of days have been a little rough.”

  “You could say that.”

  “How’s Sam holding up?”

  “Better than I am.” It didn’t feel like the right time to announce she was pregnant.

  Bain nodded and took another drink. “Good. That’s good.” He seemed distracted, as if he were intentionally putting off the reason for bringing Micah here.

  Micah downed his shot of bourbon and helped himself to another glass. “With all due respect, sire, it’s been a long night. It’ll be dawn soon, and I really want to be home with my mate when the sun rises.” He swallowed his second shot of bourbon and poured another. “So, can we get to whatever it is you want to talk to me about?”

  Bain swirled the bourbon in his own glass as he regarded Micah out of the corner of his eye. Then he smiled and strolled toward his desk. “I remember the first time I met you.” Bain’s voice held a paternal note. “I didn’t know much about you except that you were young and had already risen to the top of my father’s guard. You had quite the reputation as a lethal warrior even then.” He chuckled. “He admired you, you know. My father. Dare I say he was even proud of you. The way he spoke of you often made me think of you as a brother and not just my mentor.”

  Bain the First had employed Micah to train his son, and given King Bain’s wry tone, Micah was beginning to question if there was a greater reason for his assignment to train the young prince—at the time—than he’d been aware of.

  Bain took another drink. “Then my father told me the truth about who you were.”

  The rough edges on Micah’s nerves tingled with impatience.

  “And, now, it’s time for me to tell you.” Bain approached a pedestal that held what appeared to be a large, ancient book. “There’s something here I want you to see, Micah.”

  Micah’s skin prickled as a chill ran down his spine. The book was open, the dull, yellowish pages lightly wrinkled, as if they’d seen their share of the elements and were lucky to still be in one piece. Elegant cursive writing in black ink covered the page. It was the kind of writing one would associate with historic records.

  Undeniably curious, he stepped closer, trying hard not to stare at the tome but unable to take his eyes off it.

  “What is it?” Tension filled his shoulders, and he realized he was holding his breath. He already knew what was on that page. He just wasn’t sure he was ready to face it.

  He was faintly aware that Bain was watching him. He tore his gaze from the book as he stopped in front of the pedestal. When he met the king’s eyes, he found warm benevolence gazing back at him.

  “This is your family tree,” Bain said.

  Even though he’d already known that’s what the book contained, Micah nearly dropped his drink as his eyes shot once more to the leather-bound book.

  His gaze devoured the page whole, unable to focus on any one name for the excitement blasting through his veins. This was his lineage. All of it. If he could just focus long enough to tame his eagerness, he’d be able to see the names of his ancestors.

  After being told their family records had been destroyed, he’d never dared to hope he would one day learn the truth. It wasn’t as if he could go to Ancestry.com, plug in his information, and get a dozen little leaves tracing his origin. It was a pretty good bet Ancestry.com didn’t contain vampire records. But here he was, only inches away from all the answers about where he’d come from. Answers he would now be able to relay to his own children someday when they were old enough.

  “Breathe, Micah.” Bain rested his large hand on Micah’s shoulder and gave him a gentle shake.

  He sucked in a breath and blew it out, leaning closer. “I’m just . . .” The decorative letters began to come into focus, forming names. “I thought all my family’s records were gone.”

  “No. They’ve always been in my possession.”

  Most of the names were unfamiliar to Micah. Only a few were ones his father had shared with him, such as the name of his grandfather.

  Then a name on a side branch caught Micah’s eye.

  He bent forward, blinked, and looked up at Bain, pointing to the name on the page. “What’s this?”

  Bain followed where the tip of Micah’s index finger rested lightly on the page. “That’s me. That’s my name, Micah.”

  Micah turned his gaze back to the page and followed the bloodlines.

  Bain the Second.

  Bain’s name extended up through Bain the First to a male named Ryland, whose brother had been—

  Wait a second.

  “Is that . . .?” He took a closer look. “Does that say ‘Rysk’?”

  Bain’s eyes never left him. Micah could feel the king watching him like a hawk would a field mouse. “Yes.”

  “As in . . .?” Micah thought back to Digon’s buddy. The guy he thought was named Rule but just found out tonight was really named Rysk.

  Bain spoke quietly as he began to explain, pointing to the various names as he ticked them off. “My ancestor, Ryland, was the brother of Rysk the First, who was the father of Rysk the Second.”

  Micah couldn’t put words to the question trying to make its way from his brain to his mouth. All he could do was stare at Bain with his mouth hanging open.

  “Micah, Rysk the Second is the male who was with Ronan tonight. The male who is friends with your father. But, as you can see, they’re not really friends. Rysk is your father’s great-great-grandfather.”

  Micah dropped his gaze back to the family tree and followed the generations from Rysk’s name down to his then back up, searching for anything to explain how his name had gotten there, ensuring this wasn’t a crazy mistake. It wasn’t. His line flowed directly to Rysk the Second, up to Rysk the First, and on up to King Cato himself.

  “Are you telling me Rysk is my . . .” He counted the generations from his name to Rysk’s. “My great-great-great-grandfather? That King Cato was my—”

  He couldn’t choke out the words. Micah descended from the very first king of the vampire race.

  Bain took a cautious step toward him, as if he wasn’t sure what to expect from Micah’s reaction. The king appeared just as ready to defend himself as he was to catch Micah if his knees buckled.

  “That’s right.” Bain spoke slowly. “He’s your ancestor.” Then his features tightened. “And so is Digon. But that’s not his real name, either.” He turned back one page in the book, revealing another family tree. “Digon’s real name is Argon. He’s been using Digon as an alias to keep his true identity a secret.”

  This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

  Digon—or Argon—was a dreck. A full-blooded dreck. If Argon was Micah’s ancestor, that meant . . .

  “I have dreck blood in me?”

  Fiery heat erupted in his chest, and his hands clenched into fists. The one thing he despised the most—drecks—and his bod
y contained dreck blood. He wasn’t sure if he was going to throw up or destroy something.

  “Yes, Micah.” Bain remained close, but not too close.

  This couldn’t be true. He couldn’t have dreck blood in him. That would mean . . . oh God, he wasn’t a pure blood after all. He was a mixed-blood, and the worst possible kind. The kind that could get him ostracized by his peers.

  Like Severin, he had to hold this new truth tight to his vest, because there were assholes who would surely love to use this knowledge to destroy him. Apostle, for one. And just about everyone he had ever roughed up, locked away, or otherwise insulted.

  What if this got out? Would it put Sam and his unborn children in jeopardy? Would they all suffer because of this?

  Panic flooded him as the walls closed in. The room suddenly felt far too small.

  “Micah . . .” Bain came toward him, but he appeared to move in slow motion.

  Micah had already had a hell of a night. His emotions had been played like Ping-Pong balls in a Chinese tournament for the better part of eight hours, and he’d run the length of the scale, from livid to furious to happy to elated and back again. And back once more.

  And now he worried about the safety of his mate and children.

  He’d reached his limit.

  Done. Finito. Wave the checkered flag. Adios, muchachos.

  Lights out.

  Micah stumbled backward, teetered as blackness pushed in from the edges of his vision, which swam with milky white orbs.

  “Micah!”

  He listed to the side, staggered, and then his vision poofed out on him entirely as gravity pulled him down. The back of his head slammed against the arm of a nearby settee, casting him sideways. He rolled onto his stomach, his bourbon puddling on the floor and his nose mashed against a very expensive—and very gawdy—tapestry rug.

  Well, fuck. There went his man card.

  Chapter 23

  The medical ward had finally grown quiet. Bain and Micah had left, the lycans were gone, and Argon and Rysk hovered near the nurses’ station, readying to depart.

  It was just Drake with Ronan in his room.

  “I’m sorry I screwed things up so badly between us,” Drake whispered, placing his hand on Ronan’s. “You deserved better than an ancient male too fucked in the head from his own suffering to be a proper father to you.”

  He stood beside Ronan for a while, not speaking, eyes closed, just holding his son’s hand. He was too weary even to pray.

  A knock on the door a few minutes later jarred him back to life.

  He looked up to find Argon standing at the threshold. “Rysk and I are taking our leave for the day.”

  “Fine.”

  Argon remained. Obviously, he had more to say.

  “You should come with us.”

  Drake shook his head. “No.”

  Argon sighed as if he were trying to reason with a two-year-old. “Drake, you need to rest.”

  “This is my son. I’m not leaving.”

  Argon glanced between father and son then gave a reluctant nod. “Perhaps just knowing you’re here will give Ronan a bit of comfort.”

  Drake snorted. “Not likely, given his animosity toward me.”

  Argon tilted his head sympathetically. “Then why stay?”

  “Because it gives me comfort.”

  Argon’s expression softened into one of sad understanding. “I see. Well . . .” He gave a nod of farewell. “Rysk and I will return this evening and see you then. We have much planning to do and need to start soon.”

  Drake nodded and lifted his hand in a half-assed wave good-bye.

  After they left, he pulled the cushioned chair to the side of Ronan’s bed, settled into it, and watched his son sleep.

  His son.

  A son he barely knew.

  A son who hated him.

  But a son he loved more than life itself.

  _________

  Micah sat on the couch, an ice pack on his head. Servants worked to clean up the last of his spilled drink, and the pack of smelling salts they’d used to rouse him lay abandoned on the corner of the table.

  “Drink this.” Bain thrust a glass of water toward him.

  He took the glass and drained the contents. He still felt on the verge of passing out again, but he willed himself to stay conscious. He really needed this night to end so the roller-coaster ride could stop.

  “How do you feel?” Bain sat down beside him.

  “That’s a stupid question. How do you think I feel?” He was beyond caring that he was talking to the king. Then again, Bain wasn’t just his king. He was Micah’s cousin. A distant cousin, but family. He was entitled to speak informally to family, wasn’t he?

  Bain waited for the servants to leave his study and close the door behind them before speaking again.

  “I know it’s all a bit overwhelming, Micah, but you need to know your history, and we’ve run out of time for me to feed this to you bite by bite.” The king pulled the book containing his family tree into his lap, angling it so Micah could see it better.

  “Get that goddamn thing away from me.” Micah looked away from it.

  “There’s more, Micah, and you—”

  “More?” Micah tossed him an incredulous look. “You mean my life hasn’t been fucked up enough tonight, so why not fuck it up some more?” Then Bain’s words registered, bringing him to a standstill, and he cast a wary sidelong glance toward his cousin. “What do you mean, we’ve run out of time?”

  Bain held up his hand, beseeching him for patience. “First things first, and then I’ll get to that.” He opened the book back to Argon’s family tree. “So, let me explain our history, starting with Argon and Cato. Argon was the first ruler of the drecks. He was best friends with our ancestor, King Cato, the first king of the vampires. Back then, our two races got along.”

  Micah sensed this was going to be a long story, so he settled in, holding the ice pack against the back of his head and keeping his mouth shut.

  “Argon had a daughter named Abrial, who was promised to Teo, the son of a wealthy dreck in Argon’s inner circle. Unfortunately, Cato’s son, Rysk the First, formed a mating bond to Abrial. King Cato pleaded with Argon to dissolve the arrangement between Abrial and Teo so that Rysk the First could claim his rightful mate, but Argon refused.

  “You see, Argon was in a bad position. If he broke his promise to Teo’s family, they would have decried his leadership and led a coup against him. That’s how powerful Teo’s family was. Probably one of the most powerful families of the dreck race. But by honoring his promise to Teo’s family and denying Cato, Argon stacked the cards against himself on all fronts.

  “Denied his mate, Rysk the First fell into an agonizing suffering. He was locked away and would have certainly died, but his suffering gave him tremendous strength, and he broke free of his confinement and fled to Abrial. His intent was to claim her and make her his mate.” Bain raised his index finger and pointedly angled his head for emphasis. “Oh, and I should add that Abrial wanted this. She was as much in love with Rysk as he was with her.”

  Micah shrugged. “Then what was the problem?”

  “Teo. He didn’t care that Abrial didn’t love him. All that mattered to him and his family was that she was the premier’s daughter. She was royalty, and taking her as a mate gained him significant power among their people.

  “He also knew that if Abrial and Rysk were to mate—a prince to a princess, as it were—that eventually the dreck race would fall under vampire rule.”

  Rule. Interesting that Rysk the First’s son, Rysk the Second, had chosen the name Rule as his alias.

  Micah set aside the ice pack and rubbed the bump on the back of his noggin. “I think I’m beginning to understand the source of the problem between our two races.”

  Bain held up his hand. “Just wait. It gets worse. Upon finding Abrial locked away like a prisoner in Argon’s palace, Rysk ghosted in, rematerialized, and was about to steal her away when Teo
showed up, armed and ready to kill Rysk to keep Abrial from escaping. A fight ensued, blood was drawn, and Rysk killed Teo. Then he stole Abrial away and satisfied the urgings of his calling.”

  “Good for him,” Micah muttered.

  “Not exactly.” Bain kept his gaze on the tome as if he could read their history from its pages. “Teo’s family demanded both retribution and retaliation. They wanted the couple hunted down and Rysk put to death. The situation grew even more dire as Argon found himself trapped between duty and friendship. Argon and Cato tried to find a diplomatic solution, but before they could, one of the hunting parties Teo’s father sent out found the mated pair and killed Rysk.

  “Furious at the betrayal, and mourning the loss of his son, Cato ceased talks with Argon and sent an army to destroy what remained of Teo’s family in retaliation for killing his son, which he construed as an act of war. He kidnapped Abrial, refusing to release her until his grandson was born.

  “Rysk the Second’s birth seemed to calm things for a while between our two races, but Argon’s sons continued to pressure him, mounting growing dissent against his continued alliance with Cato and the vampires, given all that had transpired.

  “Eventually, the drecks overthrew Argon and inducted his oldest son, Tauno, as their new premier, sending Argon into exile, where he watched the growing conflict from a distance.

  “Once Rysk the Second was born, Cato took custody of him, which sent Abrial into such despair she took her own life. A month later, all-out war erupted between the two races. A war that continues to play out today.”

  Micah looked at Bain like there had to be more. That this war had to be about more than a love triangle gone wrong. “Are you telling me this war started because a dreck and a vampire loved each other?”

  Bain shrugged one shoulder. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”

  “Jesus, that’s fucked up.”

  The two sat in silence for a moment, and then realization began to sink in, which led to understanding, and finally to awareness. Micah raked his hands through his hair then flung his arms forward. Not only did he carry dreck blood in his veins, but royal dreck blood. And not only did he carry royal dreck blood, but royal vampire blood, as well.